


Let Me Out At The Next Bus Stop

by blackice



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Destroy Ending, F/M, Goodbyes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 09:21:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4429913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackice/pseuds/blackice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything works out after Shepard destroys the Reapers; she goes to the afterlife, reunites with her special people, and meets Thane across the sea. And then she breathes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Out At The Next Bus Stop

**Author's Note:**

> "I live, I die, I live again." ~ Mad Max: Fury Road

The child doesn’t want her to destroy the Reapers; Shepard knows this in her bones. It’s the whisper in her mind, the cynical one that speaks of inevitability and how the galaxy will always head this way, synthetics versus organics. Hell, the quarians know the risks of creating an AI race, even if Shepard has wrangled them into a symbiotic peace.

Synthesis, that’s what the child really wants. Not to be controlled or destroyed, but to live on while she throws herself utterly into a beam of light so her genes can contribute to a new genetic level.

Well, fuck that. Shepard has a job, one that Anderson’s died for.

She staggers to the right path, one hand clutching tight to her gun and the other pressing in at her tender stomach. Her breathing’s stuttering, but the air in this cavern is like a cold knife in her lungs.

As she shoots the hub, a kind of relief rises in her. The child said there was no way to survive the destruction of all synthetics and advanced technology, had said that with her being part-cyborg with all her enhancements that it is assured that she’ll die.

Shepard guesses that the hub takes one shot too many, because the next thing happening is the red explosion bursting from the weak point, a scarlet flower that blooms hot and angry, viciously licking at her unarmored body even as her cybernetics work overtime to keep her alive –

Instinct has her arms raise to shield her eyes and face, and she screams her wordless battlecry as her world is engulfed in flame –

Her body’s facing upwards to see a broad expansive sky of blue. Unlike the recycled air of the Citadel’s insides, all Shepard can smell is the fresh salt of an ocean. Slowly, she props herself on her elbows, blinking at the warm sunlight.

“Ah. Shepard,” says a voice, surprised. “Did not expect to see you so soon.” A three-fingered hand extends itself in front of her face, and Shepard unwillingly raises her eyes to meet Mordin’s bemused grin.

She takes the hand and allows herself to be heaved up. “Mordin, good to see you at, um. The afterlife.” Then she’s blinking at his sudden frown. “Mordin?”

“Hm.” The salarian sets down a bucket full of – what is that, seashells – and then grasps her at the shoulders, peering into her eyes. “Shepard, you are not dead. Curious.”

“… Mordin,” Shepard deadpans. “I got incinerated by a big explosion. I think I’m dead.”

His smile returns, though it looks a great deal more forced. “If you insist,” he demurs, releasing her shoulders and gingerly dusting them off. “Walk down a ways, Shepard.”

“… Am I going to like the surprise?”

“Go, Shepard,” Mordin insists, uncharacteristically sharp. She raises her hands defensively, and he exhales and repeats his words, almost shoving her down the shores of the beach ahead of him. She paces herself, though, figuring his impatient tone normal.

Warm sunlight, salt in the air, fine sand running in-between her bare feet – Ashley falls in step beside her as Shepard ambles her way down the shore.

“Skipper, how’re you?” asks the brunette. She’s in a white sundress, something reminiscent of Sunday church outfits Shepard used to wear herself, but she’s also barefoot. Her hair’s tied back with a ribbon.

“Ash,” returns Shepard. “Everything you expected in Heaven?”

Ashley shrugs. “It’s hard to describe.” She looks hard at Shepard, brown eyes boring into her green ones. “Skipper,” says the soldier uncertainly, “why are you here?”

Dryly, Shepard answers with a pithy reply. “I figured I’ve done enough in the galaxy to warrant a stay in heaven, don’t you?” She manages to hold a smile for all of five seconds, then it falls, and her shoulders slump. “You’re the second person to hint that I’m not dead. I _know_ I’m dead, Ash.”

Her nose wrinkles, but Ashley finally gives her a bracing side-hug. “It’s good to see you again, Skipper,” she offers.

“It’s good to see you too,” Shepard responds, returning the hug. “I didn’t figure you for dresses, though.” She herself is wearing an N7 hoodie, the front zipped halfway up her chest, and worn faded jeans.

The other human laughs. “Every girl wants to look pretty for a beau,” she explains mirthfully. “Or at least pretty for once in her life.” Something must catch her attention in the distance, because Ashley sobers. “I’ve gotta go soon, Skipper.”

Shepard claps her friend’s back. “I always preferred lethal and deadly-looking myself,” she confesses. “Bye, Ash.”

It figures that the next person she meets is Anderson. “I’m sorry,” is the first phrase out of Shepard’s mouth as he matches her stroll. He’s still got his cap on, and he’s dressed like a typical beachgoer in boardshorts, an undershirt, and an unbuttoned short-sleeve collared shirt with huge pineapples dotting the blue fabric.

The second phrase is, “What the hell are you wearing?”

Anderson grouses, “I never got to visit Hawaii. This is a dream you’re ruining, Shepard.” He glances down at her guilty face, her hands shoved deep in her jeans’ pockets, and she dares to meet his eyes. A smile tugs his mouth up. “I _said_ you did good, child.”

“You shouldn’t have died,” she snaps, looking ahead again. His death is a stinging addition to the record of casualties in the Reaper War. “I should’ve shot the Illusive Man the minute I saw him.”

“We both thought that,” soothes Anderson. “And what you did, you couldn’t control.” Something funny gets into his voice. “… Shepard, don’t feel guilty. Last order from an Admiral to a Commander.”

Shepard snorts. “We’re both dead, you can’t pull rank here. And… and I know you had a thing with Kahlee, alright?” Guilt’s coating her insides and spilling out from her mouth.

He pulls her into a sudden hug. “Shepard,” he says firmly, “you can’t have made me more proud.” Letting her go, Shepard sees he’s stepping away backwards. “Go on, I need to do something here.” Whatever makes ‘here’ special – Shepard gives him a hard green glare, and he raises his hands. “Just go, Shepard. Remember what I said.”

“I’m seeing you later,” she threatens, her feet already trudging through the sand. “And you’re going to explain why you sound like you’re saying your last words again.”

Legion joins her side silently after a couple minutes of solitude, and Shepard doesn’t know exactly how to communicate how she’s sorry for dooming his entire race to extinction, so she stays equally quiet and subdued until Legion finally says, “It is curious, Shepard-Commander.”

“What is?”

“Your decision to destroy synthetic life.”

Shepard manages a smile that’s more like a grimace. “Don’t pull your punches, Legion,” she half-heartedly jokes. “Why’s it curious? You knew I’d do anything to destroy the Reapers.” A small laugh crawls up and out of her throat. “Even sacrifice myself to a fiery doom, ha.”

His – _its_ , Tali’s voice reminds her fruitlessly – voicebox fritzes, like the geth’s _scoffing_ at her. He abruptly changes the subject. “I… regret not having been there at the end,” Legion admits, wry. “It seems my sacrifice did not render any significant effects to the geth.”

“Well, I guess we’re both alike in martyring ourselves for some greater cause,” she sighs. “Ever figure out why you took my armor, Legion?”

The voicebox fritzes again. “You know my answer.”

A minute or two more, and Legion takes her wrist, stalling their movements. “Shepard-Commander, know that I am not angry,” he informs her solemnly. “Whatever your actions have wrought.”

She squints up at the bright blue optic, and it dims almost in apology for giving her vision spots. “I’m still sorry, though.”

“Do not. The geth can be rebuilt.” He lets her go. “I believe EDI sends her regards,” adds the geth, gently pushing her to move on. “Goodbye, Shepard-Commander.”

“See you later, Legion.”

She walks along the beach shore for what seems like hours, but her body never feels any more fatigued. If anything, she’s growing in strength with every step. It gets to a point where she shoves the sleeves of her hoodie up to her elbows, rolls up the cuffs of her jeans, moves to the packed damp sand, and starts jogging, laughing at the pull of the ocean around her ankles.

The afterlife is mindless, and it takes the weight of the galaxy off her shoulders. She’s running down a list of food to try, the drinks to get wasted on, and the beds to fall asleep atop of when she sees him not forty feet away.

Thane Krios stands looking out across the sea, his expression inscrutable as ever. He’s not dressed in his leathers or his coat, but in a loose white undershirt and dark gray sweatpants cuffed at the ankles. It is so patently foreign to her mind, Shepard stops jogging and simply stares.

There is no blood staining his stomach from Kai Leng’s sword, and he seems to be breathing in the ocean air with little difficulty.

She wonders if he’s found Irikah, and it’s that thought that propels her to seize the moment and _sprint_.

Thane turns halfway, hearing her splash through the ocean’s tide, and he blinks before reflexively catching her in his arms. The momentum of her going to hug him causes Thane to stumble backwards, but bless him, he swiftly corrects his footing and lifts her into a bridal hold and spins once in a circle, a delighted laugh coming from his throat.

Shepard goes to kiss him, because how can she not? One hand cradling his jaw, the other arm looped around his neck, she says his name -

“Siha,” he breathes, and Thane clutches her tight and kisses her with all the ardor a thirsty man could muster for water. It lacks the hallucinatory effect that happened when they were both alive, but nevertheless, the kiss is familiar and able to induce the heated coiled feeling in her stomach as it did before.

Then Thane sets her down.

 At least he’s still hugging her. Thane’s a space-heater on his own, and Shepard, for the first time since she’s been in the afterlife, feels the chill of the ocean. She puts it from her mind and stubbornly keeps her arms wrapped around his shoulders.

“I promised you we would meet across the sea, siha,” he teases.

“It’s still been a hell of a ride,” Shepard returns good-naturedly. “Nice to finally see what’s waiting for me here, though.” She leans her head forward onto his chest and lets herself revel at the sound of non-congested lungs and a steadily beating heart.

“Mm,” hums Thane distractedly. His hands are running through her hair and over her shoulders, almost like he’s memorizing the contours of her bones. “I… I can’t describe what I’m feeling,” he confides with another laugh.

Shepard snickers. “For sake of my heart, try and go with ‘happy’,” she suggests.

Thane tugs her away from his chest, hands gripping her biceps, and he ducks down to kiss her again. “Of course,” he agrees, a little breathlessly as her hands slide up to cup his jawline. She gets on her tiptoes and Thane obligingly leans down so they can just simply close their eyes and press their foreheads against one another.

He freezes, and she can feel his frame stiffen. “… Thane?” Shepard cautiously asks, her eyes opening. His own are blinking rapidly.

“You’re not dead,” he ends up saying, and judging by the tone, Shepard’s going to guess the drell doesn’t know whether to feel joy or despair. “Siha, you – ”

“Why does everyone keep _saying_ that,” she snaps, but she doesn’t pull away. God knows how many times she’s had to pull away from this drell only to regret it. “What makes me different from the rest of you?”

Ink-black eyes stare down, the green irises zeroing in on her. “Can you trust the dead to know when one of the living walks among them?” he asks rhetorically.

Shepard slams the walls down around her emotions before they start to overwhelm her better senses. Either way, she’s left to pathetically admit, “I don’t want to live anymore.”

“That,” Thane responds, “is not characteristic of the woman I love. Neither is it, evidently, a choice for you to make.”

She closes her eyes. “How’s Irikah?” The question’s more or less to ease her worries about leaving Thane behind in the afterlife while she is forced back into the living.

“Happy. Content. Grateful, to you especially.” He touches foreheads with her again, and she impresses the memory of his warmth and rumbling voice in her mind – the short videologs Thane taped the six month period she’d been trapped in Alliance hands are a poor substitute.  “I will meet you across the sea again,” the drell vows.

“Don’t – don’t pine after me in the afterlife with your wife here,” Shepard jokes. “I’ll probably live for a long time just to spite the galaxy.” His disgruntled ‘hm’ reverberates all the way from his chest up to his throat, and it puts a short-lived smile to her face. She realizes she hasn’t been taking in air for quite a bit of time in comparison to Thane’s steady breaths. “See you later, Thane.”

“To your distant death, siha,” he replies, and Shepard wants to laugh.

Instead, she breathes.

**Author's Note:**

> Anyone I should've included? Leave a comment or kudos on your way out!


End file.
